The Re-Birth of Racism and Sexism (a satire):

Chapter Five:

Now it just so happens that the population of the United States had appointed to it seven controllers. Every Major Power was appointed a prime number of controllers, which was usually odd, so that factions could not develop within the Control Unit, and so that decisions could be decided by the most barbaric and hegemonic of all political instruments: The vote.

And it was proper that each of the controllers be given jurisdiction over one of the Seven Major Bodies, or, as the common herd called it, the Corporations. And by virtue of this monetary wealth they could find whatever adornment fit them best, and they would use it to mold the population through advertising and by avenue of cultural terror.

The Governers of the United States of America were four men and three women. Each of the men represented each of the Four Major Tribes: The White, the Yellow, the Black, and the Red. And according to their identity the Tribes were constructed. The remaining women were allowed to choose whatever ethnic identity they wished, for they had had no stake in the proceedings. The women had a more profound task: to divide the population into three religious groups. And thus was the Religion of Abraham split in three: the Christians, the Mosenists, and the Mohammedans.

And they employed the pain-staking work of Americans to develop, along the lines of Kvart prophecy, an immense Hive Mind. And this was known to be Oracle, or the Spider’s Web. The term “web” was sold to the people as a way of describing the increased connectivity that one felt whilst employing it, but literally it was explained by the fact that every computer in the world was connected by avenue of it. Of course, this web was modeled after the cosmology of the Ancient Mystikal Cults, such as the Brahmanists, whose conception of the World was that it was an interpenetrating net.

Ironically, yet in accord with the intent of the Oligarchy, the very absence of Brahmanists in the North-Western Continent was what allowed for the appeal of such a net. For, as some sensitive people like Nestor Snare would learn, most people do not feel connected to the World of Nature and the Cosmos, unless it is so by avenue of a tremendous instrument. So it was believed by a generation of people who grew up alongside it that no connectivity had existed hitherto. And this was of course preposterous.

They even forgot this: that a “web” is used to ensnare; a “net” is used to capture.

Now the Oligarchy had not anticipated the effect that this Net would have upon the population. For it was not long before information began to “leak”, as the common phrase goes, that exposed the hegemony of the Governers. As it so happened, statistical science grew to the point that one fatal statistic was published that exposed the oppressive Oligarchy:

One per cent of the country’s population owned ninety-nine per cent of the monetary wealth.

The effect of this solitary piece of data, spit out by the Hive Mind and made instantly available to all who were plugged into it, was jaw-dropping. Within mere moments, it seemed, protesters were gathered at the feet of the North American Trade Node, bewailing their misery like so many cattle to the slaughter.

The mess was unreal. It took an entire squadron of militarized police forces to clean them up. And to this day protest was considered a National Crime enforced by a Police that had shown its claws to be studded by the military.

Yet as the old saying goes one can do every thing with bayonets but to sit on them. Consent of the Ruled had to be restored. And it could only be done by exploiting the Resentiment of the Weak, re-directing it back on their selves, as Preachers all ways do.

The infiltration of the Educational System was subtle. The standard college student would only have noticed a few classes to have been dropped mysteriously from the catalogue, and only a few were inexplicably and curiously added.

These “classes” were of course funded by the puppet government to circulate a new statistical and social narrative. To weave a tighter net. And the Net had its part to play in this, for the easiest thing in the world was to circulate a meme, and to wage memetic warfare upon the Truth.

A meeting was arranged between the Seven Agents. The first to speak was the First Black Man: “We have to do some thing about all of this. All of you know that they are on to us. But how do we get them off?”

A few feeble chuckles were made at the unintended innuendo, and then a jeering woman raised her voice: “Well, it is obvious, is it not, my dear? We simply give them a new set of statistics.”

“What do you envision?”

“Think deeply,” said an other woman. “If their courage is in the future, then we must look to the past.”

“The past,” mused the Red Man. “The most dangerous of all abstractions. The Arch-Snare.”

“Up until this point,” narrated the White Man. “It has been sufficient to mold them in our image. To have them aspire towards our strength. To offer them back what was their petty birth-right,” he wrapped his arm about the first woman, “That which we steal we sell. And the price is all ways…”

“Conformity,” they all recited.

“But times have changed,” said the Yellow Man. “They want nothing to be like us.”

“They shall still all ways desire sex,” mused the third woman.

“Yet,” qualified the first, petting her lover. “sex can be taken by those who wish.”

“Rapists can be assuaged.”

“But not hippies.”

“Hippies can be murdered.”

“But not forgotten.”

“Narratives can be altered.”

“But not effaced.”

“Some do go rotten.”

“But are never replaced.”

They mused for a moment in poetic silence.

“Culture is our instrument here,” concluded the Yellow Man. “If sex is seen to be a mark not of anti-hegemonic power but of social status, people shall conform.”

“All that is left is to eliminate the deviants…” contributed the surly Red Man.

“Feminism can help,” smiled the second woman. “Those cunts still look up to us. Let them! They can turn half the population against the other half in a blink of a cosmic eye.”

“Deliciously manipulative, my dear…” said the first woman. “Yes. Even here we are a minority.”

And at that moment an idea dawned upon the First Black Man.

“I have it. The total solution. The final solution.”

A pregnant pause invited him to continue.

“Statistics. Of course. What we do: we persuade them that racism and sexism still exist.”

“As though they ever did!” retorted the White Man.

“They will all ways be believed to exist, by the weak…” the Yellow Man mused wisely. “Yet we can aggravate this subjective superstition.”

“Racism: four out of seven people here,” began the Black Man, grinning professionally at the ladies, “are White. With your consent.”

“Granted,” they all said in Union.

“That makes Four out of seven of us. White people are now worth four times as much as I.”

“And to what do we owe the honour?” grinned the White.

“Racism,” said the Red and Yellow Man together.

“PRECISELY.”

“ingenious.”

“People will recall that statistic, you know,” said the Second Lady. “About the one per cent thing.”

“That is why we edit it. We can do that, you know,” said the First.

“One per cent owns seventy per cent of the wealth,” grinned the Yellow Man. “We get a C for our hard work. They get an F for not trying hard enough. A likely narrative for college kids to consume.”

“Spoken like a true Oriental.”

The entire group guffawed.

“So that means: Fourty per cent of the wealth is owned by me,” recalled the White Man. “Ten is owned by each of the other controllers.”

“And the remainder is thirty,” said Black. “even if My People owned the entire remainder, you and I would be but tied.”

“And we can’t have that.”

“We would not need to. I hear you’ve got some rich friends down in the mob.”

The White Man grinned, as did the Yellow Man.

“So let’s say that the thirty per cent are divided along those lines,” said the Red Man, “Yellow, Black, and White. Okay. It comes out looking like Whites owned fifty per cent, Reds own ten, Blacks own twenty, and so do Yellows. Fifty plus ten plus twenty plus twenty. It all adds up. But won’t the Universities catch on?”

“Leave that to us,” said the woman who made the Feminist comment. “Disgruntled poor kids are the perfect target for warriors in our favour. We’ll call them the Social Justice Warriors.”

“Nigger is so nineteen-fifties. “Black body” sounds better.”

“Or Red Body.”

“Brown body to be more realistic.”

“Right.”

“And what about the women?” asked the Feminist Sympathiser.

“Let’s be real. We really own the wealth. If we round. But there are three of us here and four of you guys.”

“The perfect statistic,” mused the Feminist.

“For every seventy-five cents that you make…”

“You guys make a dollar.”

“Of course, it’s really that and half of one per cent.”

“And the same goes for our three quarters.”

“And each of those halves of one per cent is in fact millions of dollars…”

“But who’s counting.”

“If we round it up to the single digits,” concluded the Feminist. “it is easier to spot.”

“And harder to deconstruct!”

“And much easier for poor swine to relate to,” added the Yellow Man as a finishing stroke.

They all toasted and drank.

Dm.A.A.